


the games princes play

by winter_hare



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M, aged up nicaise, he gets enough shit from damen, hidden identity, nicaise is a prince, nicaise is up to no good, nicaise laurent and auguste like to place bets, nikandros is sick of princes bets, not quite a pwp but close, playing dress up is just a bonus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27601790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_hare/pseuds/winter_hare
Summary: “Tell me your name,” said Nikandros, watching the boy carefully as he took another barefooted step towards him, almost close enough to reach out and touch, if he tried.The boy, pulling up an arm to push away a dark curl from his forehead said, “Laurent.” There was no hesitation in his voice, as Nikandros might have expected from someone in a profession so rife with falsities. He thought briefly of the blond Veretian prince, but any such further thought was abruptly cut off by the boy- Laurent -speaking again.“It’s quite a common name among whores, actually.”
Relationships: Nicaise/Nikandros (Captive Prince)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46





	the games princes play

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god it's been so long since i've slipped on my captive prince boots, it's good to be back! i have no idea if this is in character, in voice, or even good, but it came to me and now i'm giving it to you!
> 
> not beta'ed, if you see any mistakes/errors please feel free to mention them to me in the comments :) 
> 
> also, please forgive my attempts at writing porn, it's never been a forte but it felt too integral to the idea to fade to black like i might usually be inclined. i tried my best.
> 
> xo

Nikandros, despite his best efforts, was going to be late to greet the Veretian royal family to Ios. it was an unavoidable fact - at this point, even if he marched his men all the way from Delpha to the capital without rest, he would at the very best come upon the delegation on the kingsroad and bottleneck the princes on their way into the city. And, as much as the idea might appeal to the part of Nikandros that appalled any sort of failure, particularly to an order as specific as _beat them here_ , he knew that that plan was not only stupid, but near impossible. He would simply have to reply to Damen and Theomedes’ letter with sincere apologies and arrive after the delegation did, or risk the ire of three Veretian princes and an exhausted group of Akelion soldiers. Damen could handle greeting them without his friend by his side, as much as he seemed to be convinced he couldn’t. 

As Nikandros reached for his wax and seal to send off his letter ahead of his party to Ios, he heard a rustling at the entrance of his tent. It was light, like bare footsteps on grass. 

“Enter.” He said, when he heard a delicate knock against one of the poles. 

He turned to the side in his seat, curious to see who it would be - none of his men knocked like that, and even if they did, the vast majority of them were off on a desperate mission to become patrons of one of Delpha’s remaining brothels in the town nearby to their encampment. While they weren’t as popular the further south you travelled, brothels were quite common in Delpha, whose residents still tended towards the fair skin and sexual depravity that had bled down from Vere in the years it was called _Delfeur._ His men had even attempted to convince Nikandros to join them in their revelry, saying he deserved a break from being so straight laced. He thought it was their way of saying he was a hardass, and firmly declined. 

As his eyes focused in the dim light away from the candles at his makeshift desk he saw a figure push open the flaps to his tent, bowing their head and stepping in, letting the entrance fall closed behind them. It certainly wasn’t one of his men, and even then, Nikandros hesitated to call him a man at all. The boy who stood in front of him was short, Nikandros suspected he would barely come up to his collarbones if he stood, and he was dressed lavishly. A pair of wide harem pants on his legs and a few swathes of sheer silk around his arms and chest, the boy looked every bit like an expensive whore, complete with a red tint daubed onto his lips and jewelry laden on what seemed to be every bit of him he could balance it. Even his hair glimmered with a strand of something glittering, seemingly woven into the dark fall of his curls.

“Kyros,” he said, tipping his head even lower. Though, not nearly as low as a slave would. Nikandros didn’t need to hear his accent to know this was a Veretian through and through. He carried it in every move he made. 

The boy let some of his silks fall from one of his shoulders, not bothering to fix it as his eyes came up to meet Nikandros’. They were blue. Strikingly so. Nikandros let out a breath through his nose. 

“It was thought that I might be to your tastes,” the boy took a step closer, not waiting for invitation, “I’m already paid for, a gift from your loyal soldiers.” As he inched even closer still, Nikandros could see the paint around his eyes, the dark kohl making his lashes look heavy and sultry and a shimmer on his lids that might have been mother of pearl, something that would doubtless be quite expensive this far from the ocean. 

This was quite an extravagant gift, it seemed. 

Nikandros tightened a hand on the arm of his chair as he caught scent of the boy's perfume in the air. He was much too close already, especially in such a small space. Nikandros could see the reflection of candlelight in his eyes. 

“And who exactly was it that thought that?” He said, his tone much less seductive than the boy’s - though it did little to break the energy he had carried in with him. Nikandros could imagine any number of his men who knew his preference against extravagance finding amusement in sending him the most expensive whore in the north. If the boy gave him a name, or a description, and that person happened to end up as the last person in their procession, then it would of course simply come down to coincidence. He smiled a little at the thought. 

“I did,” said the boy, tilting his chin up in a way that made the heavy earrings he had on sway and bump against his neck.

Nikandros raised an eyebrow, surprised at the response, even from a Veretian. He reclined a little in his seat, still facing the boy. He wasn’t going to bed him, but he was proving to be an efficient distraction from the choler of having to disappoint a king and a friend in one letter. It wouldn’t hurt anybody to entertain himself with a bit of light conversation. 

“I heard them say there was a kyros hiding from a few whores,” the boy held Nikandros’ gaze with a level of boldness that few others proved capable of. Usually, it was only Damen and Kastor who did such a thing, because even Nikandros averted his eyes from Theomedes’ gaze. It felt oddly intimate, but Nikandros supposed that might have been the point. “I wanted to see if he was as handsome as I thought he might be to be the kind of man who refuses a fuck just becuase he has to pay for it.” The boy was obviously not unfamiliar to crassness. Again, Nikandros was reminded of the fact that this was nowhere near a demure palace slave. 

“Tell me your name,” said Nikandros, watching the boy carefully as he took another barefooted step towards him, almost close enough to reach out and touch, if he tried. 

The boy, pulling up an arm to push away a curl from his forehead said, “Laurent.” There was no hesitation in his voice, as Nikandros might have expected from someone in a profession so rife with falsities. He thought briefly of the blond Veretian prince, but any such further thought was abruptly cut off by the boy- Laurent -speaking again. 

“It’s quite a common name among whores, actually.” Laurent said with a little smile, like it might mean something to Nikandros. If he had had a chance of getting the joke, he missed it. Perhaps it was a popular pseudonym, an allusion to the great beauty of their (now neighbouring) prince. 

“I wouldn’t know.” Said Nikandros in a flat sort of way, hoping it would deter Laurent from stepping any closer than he already had. Despite his beauty, which was, especially as he crept closer, undeniable, Nikandros still didn’t have any intention to bed him. 

“No?” Said Laurent, humming. “No, I suppose not.” He did reach out then, letting one of his fragile looking hands fall on Nikandros’ shoulder, bare to the warm night. “I won’t bore you with the stories. Unless you change your mind, though, they are quite scandalous.” Laurent gave him a coy smile, his hand drifting down to rest lightly on Nikandros’ bicep. “But a powerful man like yourself, of course you don’t concern yourself with prostitutes.” His voice was low and from where he stood he was nearly out of Nikandros line of sight, angled behind the back of his chair. 

“I’m not going to bed you, Laurent.” He said finally, after letting the silence drag on long enough to dampen his sentiment. If Laurent’s little exhale was any proof, he obviously didn’t believe Nikandros’ statement. His hand did withdraw, however, and Nikandros let out a breath that was as much relief as it was regret. 

“Let me stay a little while anyways?” Laurent asked, a little of the bravado gone from his voice, “If I go back now, they’ll say I couldn’t do my job.” 

Nikandros turned his head to look over his shoulder the best he could, ignoring how cool it was without Laurent’s hand. Without the put on confidence, Laurents voice gave away his age a little more than his appearance did; he sounded earnest, just enough so that Nikandros could feel a little of his hard resolve cracking. As much as he would like to throw this ‘gift’ back into whoevers face it came from, he refused to be needlessly cruel to do it. He let Laurent stand in his unsurety for a moment longer before he gestured to the ground by his chair. 

“I don’t have a pillow for you to kneel on, but you can stay while I work.” He said, already dreading returning to it. You don’t have to love every aspect of being a Kyros to be a good one. 

Laurent scoffed, “Kneel?” His expression of offence allowed Nikandros to glimpse a few slightly crooked teeth further back in his mouth, the crack in his illusion of perfection humanizing him nearly as rapidly as the obvious distaste in his tone. Nikandros let out a surprised laugh at the reaction. His suggestion had been complete muscle memory, he hadn’t taken into account that of course this might be a little different than dealing with a slave. A slave would never have questioned it, it would have been muscle memory for them too, but obviously it was unfamiliar to Laurent. He wondered absently for a moment if his men were having similar realizations as well. 

“Forgive me,” Nikandros said as good naturedly as he could, trying not to let out another laugh at the contrast in Laurent’s expression to how it had been a moment before. “I really am not used to company such as yours.” 

“Whores.” Said Laurent, scholing his face a little into something less ornery. 

“Veretians.” Nikandros, turning away from Laurent and back to his desk where his letter still sat, unsealed. He reached again for his wax and seal that he had set down. 

“You can sit on my cot if you would like, muss it up a little, if you really care for people to think we tumbled.” Nikandros said, his mind already drifting away from his guest and back to his duties. 

“I’ll stand.” Laurent said from behind him, his previous aplomb returning in full. Or perhaps now it was arrogance. 

Either way, Nikandros all but disregarded it as he returned his attention in full back to his letter. He decided to reread it for safety before sealing it, but barely managed to start before he was distracted once more. (Just as well, he thought briefly, he was almost completely sure his message rider had gone to the brothel with most everybody else and would be rather out of commission for the evening.) 

“You’re writing to the king,” said Laurent, who Nikandros realized was peeing over his shoulder and reading the letter along with him. Though he obviously hadn’t read far enough to realize that addressing it to the king had been a formalily, and that the letter was actually meant for his son. 

“I might have been more careful with my correspondence if I had known you read Akielon.” Nikandros said, quickly folding the letter and dragging a candle closer to heat his wax. Proofreading be damned. Damen was good at codebreaking, he could handle a few spelling errors. 

“Only a little,” said Laurent in Akielon. His accent was poor, but his words were correct. “What is he like?” He continued, once again in Veretian. 

“The king?” Said Nikandros, letting the wax drop onto the paper. It made sense that Laurent would be curious about his king, low standing as he was, a night with even a kyros was likely closer he could have ever dreamed of getting to the royal family. He could humour him for a moment. “Theomedes is noble,” he dragged his mind for another world to aptly describe his king, “and just.” 

Laurent scoffed again. “Didn’t he practically raise you alongside his sons? Nikandros, the third prince of Akielos, and you can’t come up with anything better than ‘noble?’” 

Nikandros pressed his seal into the pool of red wax with a laugh. “I didn’t realize my name had made its way to the whorehouses of _Delfleur.”_

“Delpha.” Said Laurent, with a lilt that didn’t need translation to register as a barb. 

“Delpha.” Answered Nikandros, unsticking the stamp from the fresh seal, giving the lion there a cursory inspection before setting it aside. He turned in his chair once again to get a better look at Laurent behind him. 

Laurent’s silks had slipped even further, exposing a single pink nipple to the air. He seemed in no hurry to correct it. 

“He’s quite tall. More so than you would expect.” Nikandros said eventually, when Laurent allowed their silence to linger. “The king, I mean.” he said, coming to the conclusion that there was no real harm in speaking so informally to Laurent about his sovereign. Their sovereign. “And he loves nectarines. There is an entire section of the grounds at Ios reserved to grow them.” 

“Nectarines?” Laurent said, a lopsided smile breaking out over one side of his face. 

Nikandros nodded, “I’ve seen him eat through entire bowls of them during meetings, stacking the pits up into little piles.” Nikandros gestured the vague shape of such a pile in the air. They truly were feats of concentration and balance. 

“Now you’re lying to me. I bet you think that’s funny.” Laurent crossed his arms, expression souring a little at the perceived lie. 

Nikandros nearly winced at how much he immediately missed that carefree smile on Laurent’s face. 

“Don’t believe me then,” Nikandros said, letting his eyes rake over Laurent, taking him in once more. He truly was beautiful, all long limbs and smooth lines, the colour of the silk bright against his pale skin dotted by freckles, the type that would no doubt multiply if he spent more time in the sun, and his nails were much more well kept than Nikandros had ever known his own to be. Nikandros’ eyes fell to Laurent’s full lower lip as he pulled it into his mouth to bite it, dragging it between his teeth and bringing even more colour to it beneath the paint. His tooth came away with the faintest smudge of red when he opened his mouth to speak. 

Laurent’s voice was quiet,“You say you won’t bed me, but I can tell that you want to.” His hand came up to rest on the back of Nikandros’ chair. Not touching him, not yet, but close enough to prove he could. “I haven’t known many men to resist such temptation.” 

Nikandros looked at the hand on his chair, imagining that he could almost feel the warmth of it as he steadfastly ignored the first stirrings of heat in his gut. 

“What is it,” said Laurent, “Pride? Principle?” His hand lifted from the chair and hovered a moment before it came to rest against Nikandros’ cheek, soft against the stubble of the day. The motion was so achingly tender, yet the awkwardness of Laurent’s hesitation shone through. It was not something he was used to doing. He was going out on a limb - whether it was the forwardness or the gentleness, Nikandros couldn’t tell, but he let his face fall deeper into the touch, eyes fixing on Laurent’s and finding a deepness to them he hadn’t noticed before. Perhaps it hadn’t been there to find. 

“You are far more intelligent than you appear, Laurent.” Nikandros said, because he had actually been correct in both guesses. He watched Laurent’s face shift near imperceptibly as he spoke. 

“I am much more than I appear, Kyros.” Said Laurent, switching back into accented Akielon, his chin tilting back up as he ran a thumb along the arch of Nikandros’ cheekbone. 

A shiver ran up Nikandros’ spine, and he stood - suddenly towering over Laurent, who had until that moment stood above Nikandros in his seat. Laurent’s hand fell down to Nikandros’ chest in the shift, his eyes never leaving Nikandros’ even as his gaze was carried upwards. 

“Go,” said Nikandros only as loud as was needed in the small space between them. “Take the payment they gave you and leave, tell them what you must to cover for yourself.” He willed himself to move Laurent’s hand off of his chest, but found he was unable. 

The look Laurent gave him in return was unreadable to the point of great skill. Nikandros’ could feel the evidence of his own interest undermining his point, but he held his ground, close enough to see each eyelash on Laurent’s face. 

“And if I stay?” Laurent said eventually, hand pressing a little firmer against Nikandros’ chiton clad chest. 

“You don’t have to, is what I’m trying to tell you.” Nikandros felt himself, even then, leaning ever so slightly further towards Laurent, as if he was being drawn in by an invisible current. Laurent’s hand rose and fell with Nikandros’ breaths, resting just atop where his heart was trying valiantly to beat out of his ribcage. There was no doubt that he could feel it. 

“And yet, I find myself wanting to stay.” Laurent’s eyes fell from his in a brief moment of what might have been nervousness. A blush rose on his cheeks when Nikandros didn’t immediately reply; it was hopelessly endearing. Any reason Nikandros might have had to not bed Laurent was becoming dimmer and dimmer with each passing second they lingered in that moment, breathing each other's air, already tepid with the heat of the night, each focused on their single point of contact like it was something sacred. Nikandros couldn’t remember the last time he had experienced desire such as this, sudden, visceral. Electric. 

When his hand found it, the skin of Laurent’s shoulder was soft under Nikandros’ palm, the silk covering it slipping down as easily as the other had at the slightest touch, revealing Laurent’s slender chest. The fabric fell to the ground soundlessly. 

“You are not the man I thought I would find tonight, Nikandros.” Said Laurent softly, pulling a soft gasp into his lungs as Nikandros’ hand trailed its way up his neck and into his hair. 

Nikandros smiled a little at the sound of his name in Laurent’s accent, a less than rational part of him relishing in the broken formality that allowed him to hear it. “And I don’t believe you are the boy who I thought walked in.” 

Laurent let out a little laugh then too, light and fluttery like the quick beats of a bird's wings. His eyes found Nikandros’ once more and he brought his other hand to rest along with the first, still pressed to Nikandros’ heart. It would have been the perfect leverage he would need to push Nikandros away, and yet the touch felt like a gentle invitation. Nikandros placed his other hand on Laurent’s waist, feeling the soft goosebumps that formed beneath his touch. 

“You are free to go - at any point, you can leave. I will let you.” Nikandros said again, trying to impress with his eyes the fact that he was speaking the truth. It was a weak balm on his broken intention, but it would have to suffice. 

“Please stop being noble and kiss me.” Said Laurent, barely more than a whisper. 

The burst of arousal that ran through Nikandros was so intense he thought he could go mad from it. Kissing Laurent was then as much of an inevitability as drawing his next breath. It was instinctual. It was vital. The sigh of pleasure Laurent gave him in return when he leaned down to press their lips together was enough to set him alight all over again. 

Laurent kissed much softer than Nikandros might have expected. He kissed like a slave before their first night, sweetly and with such care that it was unimaginable to want to stop. Laurent kissed like there was nothing more pleasurable he could possibly imagine, like simply being kissed was the end-all be-all of intimacy. It made Nikandros ache to know the way he made love.

Then there was the light press of Laurent’s hand on his chest, and Nikandros quickly broke away, a deep ache flaring inside him with the strain of stopping. He looked at Laurent’s face, drawing over it, searching for whatever might be there, finding him flushed red from the part of his lips to the highest curve of his cheeks. 

“I wasn’t telling you to stop,” Laurent said, pushing harder against Nikandros’ chest. Nikandros stepped back as Laurent crowded forward, stopping as he reached his raised cot. He even complied as Laurent nudged him down into sitting on it, staring at him all the while. “I was going to ache my neck, leaning up like that.” Laurent said, moving his hands up to Nikandros’ face and stepping in between his legs, pressing another kiss to his lips. His hands were light on Nikandros’ cheeks, soft, and the angle allowed for him to be the one above yet again, deepening their kiss at his leisure. 

It was like nothing Nikandros had ever known, different from both slaves and free men in its own way. And as much as he hated to think it, if this was what the Veretians were such fans of, perhaps the Veretians were onto something. The way Laurent played into both his innocence and his control was making Nikandros’ mind swim with the heady mix of unfamiliar territory and pleasure, stoking some flame inside him he wasn’t aware was even burning. 

Carefully, so carefully, Nikandros made to pull Laurent into his lap, not daring to break their kiss as he guided his legs apart to rest over his own, securing him in a straddle. The thin fabrics of their summer clothing did nothing to dampen the rush of pleasure at their closeness and Nikandros let out an unashamed groan as Laurent gave an experimental roll of his hips, pressing them impossibly closer. 

“God,” said Nikandros when Laurent pulled away to catch his breath, “You’re beautiful.” 

Laurent let out a breathy laugh, pushing another strand of his hair back from his face. He rolled his hips again and Nikandros saw his grin widen as he earned another groan in response. 

“How would you like me, Kyros?” Laurent said, his eyelids falling even lower - an action that might have appeared coy, or even submissive on anybody else, but Nikandros was getting to know him enough to know that wasn’t the case. Images of Laurent in every sort of compromising position and act raced through his mind, unbidden but not unwelcome, and Nikandros became aware of how little he had ever had to give instruction like this. Any well trained slave would simply seem to know what their master desired, acting upon a wealth of schooled and learned knowledge of cues, but Laurent, of course, would not. It would be up to Nikandros to guide this interaction. 

Nikandros ran a hand down from where it had rested on the small of Laurent’s waist to thumb at the closure of his harem pants, low enough already for him to see the expanse of pale skin stretching below Laurent’s navel. 

“Without these, perhaps?” Nikandros said, watching his thumb as it traced over the near invisible but unimaginably soft down of hair that dusted Laurent’s flesh, occasionally dipping below the fabric. Laurent’s waist was small enough that all the while Nikandros’ palm still rested over his hip bone. 

Laurent had to climb off Nikandros’ lap to manage it, but soon his pants joined his other coverings on the ground and he stood bare in the candlelight. There was a sort of confidence to the way he stood; it wasn’t the trained lack of modesty a slave would possess, nor the pride an athlete might, it was something completely else. Laurent stood there, completely nude, as if he knew he was in complete control because of it. And, as Nikandros allowed his eyes to roam over Laurent, he couldn’t deny that it was true. 

Then, Laurent sank to his knees. 

“I never understood,” said Laurent, laying a hand on Nikandros’ bare thigh, “why Akielons have such a fixation with kneeling.” His hand ran further up, gently toying with the hem of Nikandros’ chiton, dangerously close to the apex of his legs already. “Your slaves kneel for their masters, your soldiers kneel for your generals,” Laurent’s other hand began its own exploration up his other thigh, “I’ve heard that even _you_ kneel for your king.” Laurent guided Nikandros’ thighs apart with his hands spread wide and moved forward to kneel between them. A hand pushed his chiton up to the connection of his hip and Laurent leaned down, placing an unbearably gentle kiss to it. “Is that true, Kyros?” He said, breath hot against Nikandros’ skin. 

“Yes.” Nikandros breathed, barely daring to speak lest it all be revealed as a dream. 

Laurent hummed, pulling his head back to look at Nikandros as he fully pushed back the last of his chiton that afforded him any modesty. The air was cold against his sensitive flesh, but it was nothing to the feeling of Laurent’s hand that arrived a second later. Nikandros groaned and Laurent bit his lip, looking him dead in the eyes with an intensity Nikandros had never known. Not even Damen had ever looked him in the eyes like that. 

“Perhaps there’s something to it,” Laurent said, ever so quietly, adding the slightest pressure to his grip on Nikandros. “There’s more in it than subservience, there’s a sort of…” Laurent finally gave a proper stroke and Nikandros broke his gaze as his eyes slammed shut with pleasure, “Power.”

Laurent continued to stroke Nikandros firmly as he reigned himself in enough to give a direction, not forgetting that Laurent’s forwardness would likely falter at a certain point. _How do you want me_ , he had said. Nikandros would not be likely to forget that anytime soon. 

“Please,” Nikandros said, his voice strained further than he had ever heard it, twisted with an unfamiliar desperation, “let me have your mouth.” 

Laurent smiled, and compiled almost immediately - lolling out his tongue and bringing it to press wetly against the head of Nikandros’ cock, a hand still working him at the base. 

Nikandros watched Laurent fix his lips around the width of it and his brain almost completely fogged from the feeling. The warmth, the softness, made him clutch at the blanket beneath his hand, balling it into a fist to not thrust up into Laurent’s mouth. 

There was a deftness to Laurent’s movements that mirrored the elegance he seemed to naturally possess, still present even with his lips spread wide and wet over Nikandros’ cock, his cheeks hollowed out to create a visage of debauchery. He was gentle, and he was intent on his task, watery blue eyes looking up at Nikandros all the while, eye contact remaining even then, boring into Nikandros like a constant burning reminder that this was something else than anything he’d ever known. 

It wasn’t long at all before he was folding a hand into Laurent’s hair to pull him off, the seed gems woven through it warm from his scalp under Nikandros’ palm as he staved off his impending summit. Laurent came away with a wet sort of sound and an obscene amount of spit on his face, even to the point of dripping down his chin and falling to his chest in a few long tendrils. It should have looked humiliating, on his knees and so obviously defiled, but again, Laurent looked nothing but in control. Nikandros watched as Laurent brought the back of his hand to his mouth and wiped away the mess, leaving a grin in its place. 

“I shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss kneeling, earlier,” Laurent said, leaning into Nikandros’ hand that still rested by his temple, “if that is what it is like to kneel for a Kyros.” 

“If that is what it was always like, there might be more demand for the position.” Nikandros said, his breathing still laboured as he managed a small laugh. He looked at Laurent then, drinking his fill of his face, eyes ligerening again on his shiny lips, their paint smudged away but just as red. Nikandros’ cock gave a twitch where it sat, still in Laurent’s soft hand. 

“Come closer,” Nikandros bid, hand falling from Laurent’s hair to guide him by a finger under his chin, nudging him to stand and step closer. Nikandros stood himself, unsteady on weak legs, but stable enough to turn them so Laurent was the one with his back to the cot. “Lie down,” he said, still only as loud as was needed. Laurent leaned up to place a gentle kiss on his lips, and then complied, turning to settle on the cot on his stomach in a series of motions so fluid they were beautiful in their own right. 

Nikandros took him in once more, convinced he would never tire of looking at him now that he had gotten the chance to see what had lain under those fine silks, the soft contours of his willowy limbs, the freckles and birthmarks that speckled the whole of his body like holes burnt in fabric by sparks from a fire. 

“Come closer,” echoed Laurent, head turned to look back over his shoulder, the smooth shifting of muscles in his back catching the candlelight. Nikandros could see the heavy rise and fall of his chest. 

“Roll over,” said Nikandros, taking the liberty of running a hand over Laurent’s back, dipping low to graze over the soft curve of his ass. Laurent obliged, dislodging Nikandros’ hand to rest instead once more on his lower stomach. He took Laurent in hand then, marveling at the noise he earned as he began to gently work him. Laurent keened, letting out a series of breathy sounds that nearly brought Nikandros close again just from hearing them. 

“Are you going to bed me, or just play with me?” Laurent said, an attempt at something scathing that failed miserably as he nearly interrupted himself with his own pleasure. 

Nikandros felt the urge to smile at him. 

“It seems I could do either, and I would be content.” Nikandros said, luxuriating in the weight of Laurent’s cock in his hand, becoming harder with every firm stroke he gave it, betraying Laurent’s aloofness as he grew more and more aroused. Laurent watched him with heavy lidded eyes, propped up lightly on his skinny elbows. His chest heaved. 

“I will be content when I have had you.” Laurent said, eyes firmly not leaving Nikandros’ face and his voice almost more convincing for all that it wobbled, the determination shining through.

Nikandros let go of Laurent and lowered himself to kneel down on the cot, a knee on either side of Laurent’s hips, bracketing him in and enclosing him into Nikandros’ space, suspended beneath him. 

Nikandros returned Laurent’s heavy gaze. 

“Are you,” Nikandros hesitated - he wasn’t sure how to ask his question, especially not in Veretian. “ready for me?” 

Laurent gave a huff like it was the stupidest question he had ever heard. 

“If you’re asking whether I am prepared, I am,” he gave a sneer that somehow managed to be both attractive and effective from where he lay, flat on his back. “If you’re asking whether I am ready, I have never been moreso.” 

Nikandros shifted his weight to one arm in order to reach beneath his pillow and retrieve a small vial of oil. Laurent laughed, but said nothing. 

Nikandros pressed the bottle into Laurent’s hand. “Show me how you did it.” 

Laurent gave him another funny look, not unimpressed, but curious. “There was a reason I took care of this beforehand. Most see it as an inconvenience.” He looked to the vial in his hand, tipping it to see the oil inside fall against the stopper before tipping it back. 

“All the same I-” 

“You want to see me do it.” 

Laurent took a few breaths, as if he were considering. Then, lifting his neck at an only slightly awkward angle, he unstoppered the bottle and poured some over his fingers. He was careful not to spill any onto Nikandros’ bedding. 

Nikandros watched as Laurent’s hand discarded the bottle onto the cot and trailed down over his stomach, one finger leaving a shimmering golden path from the center of his chest to the patch of peach fuzz hair below his navel, dusting over his stomach. His hand trailed lower and Laurent wasted no time in pushing two fingers inside himself, drawing his knees up on either side of Nikandros who sat back on his haunches to watch. 

Nikandros was torn between never looking away from the spot where Laurent’s knuckles disappeared within himself and watching his mouth fall open as small breathy noises began to fall from his lips once more. 

Laurent moved quickly, almost brusque in his movements for all that everything else he did seemed to be showy and sensual. Nikandros caught his wrist.

“Go slowly.” 

“There’s no point,” Laurent huffed. “I’ve don’t this, I’m ready for you.” 

Nikandros released Laurent’s wrist and instead moved to cup his face, as Laurent had done to him. He pressed a kiss to his mouth. 

“Humour me,” he said, and reached for the bottle of oil again, pulling his right hand from Laurent’s hot cheek.

“I don’t think you’re very funny.” 

Nikandros laughed and oiled his own fingers. “And yet you still laugh at me.” 

Laurent let out a breath from his nose that was probably amused, but reminded Nikandros just a little of a horse's frustrated chuff. He smiled and retraced the line of oil down Laurent’s stomach, drawing a shiver from him and raising goosebumps along his flesh. 

“Do all Akielons fuck like this?” Laurent’s voice was just a little harshed, like he was disguising how breathless it would be otherwise. 

Nikandros smiled, continuing his paths downwards. “Like what?” 

Laurent’s fingers, still buried deep, returned to movement. Slow, but seemingly unsure. He let out a small, almost confused sounding noise. He said nothing further. 

Nikandros’ finger joined, only probing, not entering. Light touches exploring the soft skin that welcomed Laurent’s fingers so eagerly, glistening with slippery oil, occasionally brushing Laurent’s knuckles, occasionally drifting up to press at the flesh just below Laurent’s sac. When Laurent’s pace once more returned to harshness, Nikandros met his eye. Laurent slowed. 

“Follow my pace, can you do that for me?” 

Laurent’s brow furrowed briefly, but smoothed as Nikandros’ finger joined his, forcing the pace to slow, pushing in with a steady ease. Laurent nodded, just a small thing. Nikandros leaned down overtop of him to place their lips against each other and feel his heat against his chest. 

The feel of their fingers moving together was intoxicating, the way Laurent would try to speed up, but find himself unable, the noises he would make, frustration gradually giving way to something else as Nikandros guided him. As Laurent seemed to lose himself more and more the more too he seemed to grow testy in a terribly endearing way. He sounded positively angry and he trembled and cried out when Nikandros knew he had driven their fingers into his target. His chest heaved breaths and rose to meet Nikandros’ above him, feverish to the touch. But he said nothing - it seemed very likely to Nikandros that he had no qualms at all, only that this seemed to be his natural temperament, the previous coquettish and soft act nothing more than that, an act. It was hopelessly endearing in a way that nearly made Nikandros question what had gotten into him. 

  
  


Soon, the temptation grew too strong for Nikandros to be satisfied by only that. As devastatingly satisfactory as it all was. 

“Can I?” He asked against Laurent’s mouth.

Laurent looked up at him with a plaintive whine and a fierce stare. 

Nikandros laughed and pulled his finger free from its snug place pressed against Laurent’s two, pulling Laurent's entire hand up with him as he twined them together, slippery, above Laurent’s head on the cot. 

“All right, all right.” Nikandros assured. 

In no time, Nikandros was lining himself up, Laurent’s legs wrapping around him and urging him closer with the light pressure of his heels, like he was spurring a horse. 

Nikandros pushed forwards, intently watching the muscles shift in Laurent’s face with every part of his mind that wasn’t consumed with the all surrounding feeling of Laurent in his entirety. 

Laurent gave a cry as Nikandros urged his cock past slick resistance, closing his eyes and parting his lips. Nikandros held fast and eagerly took Laurent’s mouth with his own, their kiss urgently becoming unrefined. 

He could feel Laurent bear down continually as he adjusted, hear the noises he made deep in his throat as Nikandros gave minute shifts, near unable to still his hips from seeking forwards. Nikandros kissed him deeply and felt his stomach burn like a piece of paper lit from the center, creeping outwards leaving flame in its wake as it threatened to burn him up entirely. 

“Nikandros,” Laurent said, where a less determined person may have whined it. “Please.” 

The punched out sound Laurent made as Nikandros found his seat fully would haunt him for many days yet to come, a sigh of relief and exertion. 

Nikandros could feel Laurent trembling, as fragile lovers are wont to do, his arms strung about Nikandros’ neck and a hand buried against his scalp, as if holding on. It was these, the breaks in his mask that set Nikandros alight. The glimpses of something other than the image Laurent had so obviously painted of himself shining through to catch the candle light. The unsurety, the brashness despite it, the little huffs blending seamlessly with helpless whimpers, they glowed like burnished gold with the truth of this boy Nikandros held in his arms, like nobody he had ever had- bright with embers that spoke their own warning and held their own promises. 

Nikandros pulled back to push forward again, pressing firmly into the enveloping warmth that was Laurent, all fingernails digging into his shoulder and soft lips against his own. Laurent keened with every thrust as Nikandros began to find a pace - gentle, and then not. Laurent near bared his teeth as they separated to pant into each other's mouths. The moment for delicacy was passing as quickly as it had arrived, the ghost of it lingering only in the way Laurent’s throat rose and fell with his breaths, - the sight of it almost overwhelming in its fragility, the feel of those breaths against Nikandros’ face intoxicating. 

  
  


\---

Nikandros thought of nothing but Laurent the entire ride to Ios. it was an all consuming sort of obsession, returning to him in every moment as if he were still there in that tent in Delpha, holding him in his arms, feeling the press of his lips, the taste of his paint, the soft yield of his body under his touch. It held him captive without reprieve, and often he contemplated how best to return to him. Likely, he never would, and he knew this. By the next time he found himself in Delpha, let alone away from the capital, the chances of Laurent still being in the employ of the one place he knew him to have ever been was slim, if not infinitesimal. But he let himself remember, let himself luxuriate in the clarity of the memory, letting it occupy his thoughts on the long journey home.

When Ios crept over the horizon, wavy from the heat, Nikandros could still barely think of anything but the last vestiges of Laurent’s perfume that clung to his memory, if not his skin. And when he arrived at the palace, evidence of the Veretian royal’s arrival at every turn, it wasn’t a prince's name he heard on the lips of generals and politicians. It took every ounce of restraint he could muster to not retreat into his memories as he attended briefings and important meetings and heard the name _Laurent_ passed from mouth to mouth. He dreaded meeting the man, the fear that he would somehow slip up, or let it throw him off his balance overwhelming. It was a small comfort knowing that after this visit, Laurent was an uncommon enough name this far south that the issue was unlikely to arise again any time soon, but still, even as he was waiting for his introduction to the Veretian delegation, he was unable to shake the ghost of another in his mind. 

“You’re not going jumpy on me now, are you, Nikandros?” Said Damen good naturedly, but loud enough to be embarrassing as they waited patiently in the receiving hall for the Veretians to parade their way in. They had arrived less than a day before Nikandros himself - so little time it was a wonder they _didn’t_ meet on the kingsroad.

Nikandros was trying desperately to keep his breathing steady, nervous only for the off chance he might say something off colour, or give something away. What he was fearful of giving away he couldn’t say - it was an irrational worry, but a worry all the same. Hell, Damen had weaseled it out of him within minutes of them being reunited, seeing Nikandros’ absent thoughts clear as day without him saying a thing. 

“They’re really not that bad,” Damen continued, lowering his volume, “a bit odd, and sharp around the edges, but if Kastor can make it though meeting them without getting run through with one of their swords, so can you.” 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Nikandros replied, a little terser than he intended in his anxiety. 

“Hey come on,” said Damen, elbowing him in the ribs a little, “It’s just a routine introduction, you’ve done this a hundred times,” Damen mercifully dropped his arm. “Remember that old trick for nerves that Makedon taught us? Try thinking of that lay you had in Delpha-” 

“Damen, please.” Nikandros cut him off, coughing with embarrassment as he felt his cheeks heat up. Merifully, before Damen could say anything else they got their signal that the doors were about to open. Nikandros went to one knee as his status demanded, his eyes turned downwards. 

It wasn’t long at all before he watched three immaculate pairs of boots stride into the hall, their owners unmistakeable. 

“Prince Auguste,” Nikandros heard Damen say as they were approached by the largest pair of boots. The eldest Veretian prince bringing Damen in for a quick embrace before allowing his attention to be turned elsewhere. “This is Nikandros, Kyros of Ios and my closest friend.” 

“It is an honour to meet you, Kyros. I have heard many stories of your skill and loyalty.” Said the prince in a deep, rich voice. Nikandros lifted his head to greet him in return, his eyes falling upon one of the most dashing men he had ever seen. Prince Auguste was tall and firm, blond hair framing a friendly face adorned by an impressive smile. The width of his chest alone shielded his two younger brothers behind him from Nikandros’s view. 

“The honour is mine, Your Highness.” Said Nikandros, grateful that his voice was steady. 

“Let me introduce my brothers,” said Auguste, stretching out an arm and summoning one of them to appear next to him. 

The man who came into Nikandros’ view was slender in comparison to his elder brother, but still obviously an athlete. He stood with a sort of rigid firmness that somehow perfectly complemented the measured grace with which he moved. His hair too, was blond, giving his identity away before Auguste could say another word. 

“Prince Laurent.” Said Auguste, and Nikandros swallowed heavily, inclining his head again in a brief once more. 

“I am delighted to finally make your company, Kyros.” Said Laurent, his voice sharp where his brothers was full, ringing in Nikandros’ ears as he continually stilled his mind from wandering. 

“As am I, Your Highness.” He said, thanking every ounce of luck he had that this Laurent sounded nothing like the other. A small mercy, that he wouldn’t have to bear him saying his name as his namesake before him had. 

“And my youngest brother,” said Auguste, gesturing once more, “Prince Nicaise.”

Nikandros, with his head still bowed, saw his boots approach first as he had with Auguste, the soft clip of them on marble echoing quietly under the high ceilings. He came to a stop in front of Nikandros, closer than either of his brothers had, and extended his hand into his view. It was an odd gesture, and not one Nikandros had been expecting in the slightest. It was something a princess might have done, or a queen. Not a prince certainly, or at least no prince Nikandros had met. Prince Nicaise said nothing, and Nikandros did the only apparent thing he could - reaching gently forward, he took Nicaise’s hand into his own and pressed a delicate kiss to the knuckles. His skin was soft, and was decorated with a few sparse freckles. Nikandros could smell the faintest traces of a Veretian perfume, likely clinging to Nicaises wrist, and was struck with a pang of recognition. He banished it as soon as it came across him though. It was surely nothing more than a common Veretian scent. He had probably smelled it many times and would smell it many times yet, it would not do to associate it too strongly with something that could only trip him up. “Your Highness,” Nikandros said, still holding Nicaise’s hand, “The honour is mine.” 

After a moment, Nicaise spoke. “And the pleasure is mine, Nikandros.” 

Nikandros’s stomach plummeted, and before he could stop himself his eyes snapped up to land on the prince in front of him. He could feel the blood drain completely from his face as he was, again, struck by undeniable recognition. 

Standing in front of him, as clear as flesh and blood, his hand still held in Nikandros’, was Laurent. 

Nikandros’ jaw dropped and he stared in open disbelief. It was reflex as he said the name. 

“Laurent?” 

Immediately, Nicaise lifted his other hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh, failing completely as it escaped anyways to echo loudly. 

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Said another voice, and though Nikandros couldn’t pull his eyes away from Nicaise to look he knew it to be the Prince Laurent, and he sounded anything but pleased. “I cannot _believe_ you, Nicaise!” Continued prince Laurent, who threw his arms up in frustration in Nikandros’ peripheral. 

“Nicaise?” Said Auguste in a rush, obviously not having put together whatever prince Laurent had. Nicaise only continued to laugh, tears now bursting from the corners of his eyes. 

Damen turned to Nikandros too, probably the most confused out of anyone, save Nikandros himself. “Nik?” He said, his head pivoting rapidly to look at everyone in turn before settling back on Nikandros. Nikandros had no answer to give him though, as his brain was still desperately trying and failing to blend his memories of the night he had spent with a hired prostitute in Delpha with the giggling visage of a prince in front of him. 

“I…” he said helplessly, “You…” 

Nicaise brushed a tear from his cheek and finally succeeded in stifling his laughter, looking down at Nikandros in something that might have been apology. 

“It’s like I said,” Nicaise started softly, but loud enough for everyone standing nearby to hear, “There can be a certain… power, in kneeling.” 

Auguste and Laurent recoiled, but Nicaise continued, “Though I will say, to see you do it too is a nice little reversal.” The smile returned to his face in full and the reality of it hit Nikandros in full. He had bedded a prince of Vere, in disguise as a _prostitute_ , no less. His mouth opened even wider as he realized what the consequences could be for such a thing, and with how disgusted Auguste and Laurent appear to be, he would likely have to face them in full. 

“You little brat! You couldn’t have given him any other name?!” Said Laurent, the volume of his voice enough to tear Nikandros’ eyes away from Nicaise. Laurent’s arms were crossed in a fierce stance as he stared down his brother and his face was flush with anger. 

“Well I mean I could have, but I was quite proud of that little touch.” Nicaise flashed his brother a great wide smile, showing a few too many of his teeth for it to be anything but childish and comical. Nikandros nearly reeled back in confusion again, eyes going desperately between the two, trying to figure out what he was missing. Why wasn’t Laurent having him arrested? Or Auguste? Could he be arrested for something like this? Tried? 

“When?” Said Auguste, his voice rather loud too, but more in disbelief than anger. 

“Delfeur,” Nicaise said, turning back to Nikandros with a troublemaking sort of look, “I snuck into his tent dressed like a whore.” 

Damen choked loudly, obviously finally having understood. 

“Ugh, ew, Nicaise, nobody asked you _how_ you did it.” Said Auguste, his expression hidden and voice muffled as he scrubbed a hand over his face. Laurent was only getting redder. 

Nicaiase shrugged, “You’re just mad I won.” 

Damen, having a little more of his senses about him than Nikandros, asked the question they were both thinking. “Won?”

Auguste let out a tired sounding sigh, not pulling his hand away from his face. 

“Rise, Nikandros,” Auguste said, still muffled, when it became obvious his brothers were expecting him to give the answer. Nikandros, for his part, had nearly forgotten he was kneeling. 

He dropped Nicaise’s hand, mourning the loss of warmth immediately, and stood. Nothing was any less bewildering from this different vantage, but it did mean he didn’t have to look up at everybody. 

Auguste took another moment to collect himself and emerged from behind his hand looking every bit the weary king he might one day become. 

“It was a foolish bet. A game.” Auguste said, clasping his hands in front of him in a way that conveyed quite well he was trying to be as statesmanly as he could. For his effort, it worked, but the effect was dampened by his fuming and mirthful brothers, respectively. 

A silence followed as Nikandros registered the words. A game? Nicaise had slept with him… to win a bet? 

“And,” said Damen slowly, catching up much faster than Nikandros, who was still half expecting to be executed by the end of the day, “the rules?” 

Laurent flushed even redder than he had been. “It doesn’t bear talking about.” He said firmly, and Nikandros almost thought everybody was going to listen to him and speak no more of it. Another life, perhaps, that might have been true, but in this one Laurent’s word was subject to another’s assent. 

“We’ve dragged them this far into it, they have a right to know.” Auguste said, turning briefly to give his brothers a firm look. 

“If you tell them, you forfeit.” Laurent said, quick as lightning. 

“Hey! I already won!” Said Nicaise, just as quickly jumping in. Despite being likely near twenty, he looked every bit the insolent child. 

“No,” said Laurent, turning on Nicaise, “we never stated that it ends after only one of us succeeds. You can still be beat, the game’s still on.” 

“I have to tell them,” Said Auguste, seemingly not amused by his brothers’ childish antics. 

“You tell them, you forfeit.” Laurent reiterated, just at stern. He really was capable of looking quite formidable when you looked past the already arresting beauty. 

Auguste stared at Laurent for a moment, the two of them seemingly having an entire exchange in the blink of an eye. 

“Fine.” Auguste relented, “But I’m telling Kyros Nikandros, we can’t torture him any longer than we already have.” 

Nikandros let out the breath he had been holding while the brothers argued, not sure yet whether he should feel relieved or like his fate had been sealed. He turned to look at Damen, who seemed much more amused than he was himself. 

“Damianos, go.” Said Laurent without hesitation, and Nikandros nearly blanched again at how casually he disrespected another prince. But before he could even turn away from Damen, he watched him shrug. “I’ll be training for the tournament, find me later, yeah?” he said, casual as ever. 

Nikandros spluttered, just a little. “But- Damen!” He said, watching Damen turn to leave, stopping to give a dopey smile to Laurent before he did. 

“Don’t worry, Nik,” He called with a bit of a laugh from where he had already started to walk away. “I think they’re just like this.” 

That, like earlier, likely wasn’t the most reassuring thing Damen could have said. It did help to assuage the fear of his imminent castration some, though. If Damen felt comfortable enough to leave him to their devices, they were either harmless, or more threatening than Damen could possibly realize. Watching them squabble like children, made him think the first, but his memories made him inclined to believe there might be truth in the latter, too. 

Auguste turned a kind smile to him once Damen had left the room, the door shutting loudly in his wake. “Let me begin with an apology, Kyros Nikandros. I think me and my brothers may have made somewhat of a disastrous first impression,” Auguste’s face soured, “Well, second impression.” 

Nicaise let out a stray giggle. 

“Over the years,” Auguste began, “we’ve entertained ourselves with games and such, a child's tactic to liven up a rather stifling upbringing. You must know, I’m sure we can’t have been the only sort to come up with that idea.” He smiled and paused, as if to let Nikandros agree. He nervously nodded his head. 

“Damianos and I used to sneak griva into the wine to get everybody drunk in meetings.” Nikandros said, his voice giving away some of his lingering anxiety and confusion. “I think they knew, but they never said anything.” 

Nicaise laughed again, a small, beautiful thing that only lasted a second before it disappeared once more. 

Auguste gave Nikandros a wide grin. “I’ll have to keep that one in mind next time the council gets too dull.” 

“They’ll all lose their livers in a fortnight.” Nicaise chimed in, earning a laugh from Auguste before he returned to their first item of discussion. 

“The game in question, more of a competition, really,” Auguste took a pause, obviously embarrassed at being caught out, and was promptly interrupted by his youngest brother. 

Nicaise took a step forward again to speak, “Gus is going to take all day to spit it out if you let him, he's a real prude when it comes to this kind of thing.” 

“Nicaise,” Auguste offered as a brief warning, but Nicaise completely ignored him. 

“The objective was to seduce as high a ranking official as you could. Extra points for a kyros, even more for a prince.” His words were blunt in that familiar sort of way, but the pleasantness of any familiarity was drowned out by the sentiment. 

“Ah,” Nikandros managed as his eyes met Nicaise’s. “I see why you sent Damianos out, then.” 

“We meant no offence by it, Kyros.” Said Auguste, who, when Nikandros turned his eye to him looked truly apologetic. 

“If it’s any consolation, you were never meant to know.” Said Laurent, arms still crossed, as he tossed another glare at Nicaise. 

“A small pittance, I’m sure.” Said Auguste, watching Nikandros not so subtly for any reaction he might give. 

Nikandros regarded the three brothers in front of him. Their beauty, their strength, their quick wit, and he found himself, against all logic, laughing. 

Laurent looked wary, but the other two joined him immediately. 

“Knew you’d come around.” Said Nicaise, eyes sparkling once more when Nikandros could pull himself from his mirth enough to see it. 

“You barely know me at all,” Nikandros said, looking at him in amazement, every bit the ethereal beauty even now without what Nikandros realized must have been truly and entirely a false coyness. He had thought the some of confidence was faked, but evidently, he barely knew Nicaise either. 

“No, but I knew you were good.” Nicaise said, offering up one of those true toothy smiles. 

Nikandros’ pride swelled just a little, and he couldn’t help but give an exasperated smile back. 

“I don’t care what Damen says,” Nikadros said, shaking his head a little, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to your type.” 

“Veretians?” Asked Nicaise, the memory of their previous similar exchange quite obviously as clear for him as it was Nikandros. 

“Princes.” He said, the tension draining completely from his face as he picked up another bout of disbelieving laugher. 

Damen was in for a ride with these princes, whether he knew it or not. Nikandros had an inkling he might be too, and that suspicion was only confirmed as he locked eyes with Nicaise through their laughter.

Maybe, thought Nikandros as he looked at the prince before him, this diplomatic visit wouldn’t be so terrible after all. 


End file.
